


Like Food without Salt

by Gileonnen



Series: Three Knights Game [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Caning, Flogging, Hairtouching, Handkissing, M/M, Meeting Your Lover's Lover (and Begging Him to Top You), Multi, Sauna, Slight D/s Elements, Switches Both Literal and Figurative, Teasing During Sex, Tender Gentle Sadism, The Coerthan Climate Catastrophe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gileonnen/pseuds/Gileonnen
Summary: One cold Coerthan day, Haurchefant invites Estinien and Aymeric to join him at his family's secluded sauna--and perhaps, later, to join him for more.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Haurchefant Greystone/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: Three Knights Game [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998406
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	Like Food without Salt

In the close confines of the sauna, the air was heavy with steam. Haurchefant felt lassitude steal over him with every heated breath—not true relaxation, but a loose-limbed weariness at odds with his pounding heart.

Beside him on the lower bench sat Estinien, sprawled out with his head tipped back against the upper bench and his long, pale limbs glistening with steam. He seemed entirely at his ease in the charged silence, watching Haurchefant with his eyes half-lidded as veils of steam drifted between them and Aymeric ran his fingers through Estinien's soft, white hair.

 _Ser Aymeric de Borel, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights._ Estinien's lover, or something like it. The man who held his leash.

Haurchefant knew Aymeric only in passing; they had crossed paths half a dozen times, trading off command in joint exercises or partners in a ballroom dance. He had stood in full parade dress when Aymeric was elevated to the Lord Commander's seat, like a promise and a threat: _House Fortemps will stand beside you if we must, but never behind you._ He knew the man's seal and his neat, flowing hand, and he knew that Aymeric liked to choke Estinien while he fucked him.

It was difficult to give those stories credence, while Aymeric sat on the upper bench of the sauna like a monument to contemplation—his chin resting on the back of his hand, his gaze downcast as a fond smile played about his lips. Every line of him was clean and perfect, from the arch of his back to the graceful sweep of his calves; his skin was as smooth as polished alabaster, his hair shining in onyx ringlets. Only the faint crimson flush across his cheeks and shoulders betrayed him for a mortal.

Haurchefant watched as Aymeric sifted his fingers slowly through Estinien's hair, and it was nothing like what he had imagined might pass between them. He had invited them here in the hope that they would try to break him; he had readied himself to be beaten and fucked. But the queer tenderness of their intimacy touched him still more deeply, and awakened a yearning in him that he feared no climax could replete.

"You're staring," said Estinien lightly, as Aymeric's thumb traced the ridge of his cheekbone.

Haurchefant straightened with a startled laugh. "Am I?" he asked. Red though he was from the heat, he felt himself blush to his ears. "Forgive me. It's only that I seldom see such affections displayed so openly, and I found it ... arresting."

Aymeric's soft smile deepened. "You need apologize for nothing," he said. His voice was warm and rich, and Haurchefant longed to sink into it as though into a hot bath. "If anything, I ought to ask your forgiveness—you did not come here only to watch."

"Nor did I come to demand," said Haurchefant. "That you even consented to entertain my proposal—"

"I consented to far more than that." Lifting his chin from his hand, Aymeric reached out to graze his fingertips over Haurchefant's cheek. Warm though his hand must have been, it felt cool against Haurchefant's heated skin. Aymeric's touch was almost unbearably gentle.

Haurchefant had come apart in Estinien's arms a dozen times, imagining Ser Aymeric de Borel's cruel hands upon him—dreaming of fingers fisted in his hair, an unyielding grip at his throat. He had not imagined that he would be roused nearly beyond endurance by the lightest brush of Aymeric's palm against his lips.

"May I kiss you?" Aymeric asked, and the delicate civility of it was so unexpected that at first he did not know how to answer.

"Please," he said at last, and rose to his knees on the bench. The heat was greater, higher in the room, and even the slight change in position made him light-headed. (Or perhaps that was all the blood in his body rushing to his cock.)

He closed his eyes and felt Aymeric cradle the back of his neck. For a moment, Haurchefant tasted only the wet mineral steam of the sauna—then Aymeric's breath, sweet and sharp, all lemon and honey and chamomile tea. And then he felt soft lips upon his own, and he leaned into the kiss as though he could drink it in.

It was not a claiming kiss, and yet Haurchefant offered himself wholly all the same. When Aymeric swept his tongue over the curve of his lower lip, Haurchefant opened to him at once. Met with no rebuff, he licked into Haurchefant's mouth with a fierce, savoring intensity that set Haurchefant's every nerve alight. He forgot to breathe; his world condensed to Aymeric's hand on his neck, his lips on Haurchefant's lips, the hard wood of the bench beneath his knees. However deep the kiss went, Haurchefant chased it deeper, until he could scarcely tell where he ended and Aymeric began.

The room seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. Half-swooning, Haurchefant swayed, then sank down again to sit on his heels. He watched concern ghost across Aymeric's face, and he held up a pacifying hand. "Too hot, I fear," Haurchefant managed. His voice sounded strange and distant in his ears, as though someone else was speaking from the bottom of a deep well.

Estinien rose and took Haurchefant by the elbow, guiding him out of the sauna and into the icy air. Thankfully, the first shock of snow under his feet revived him. Haurchefant drew in a sharp breath that seemed to freeze him down to the bottom of his chest, then exhaled in a white cloud of vapor. "Thank you, my friend," he said at last, clasping Estinien's hand. "I ought not to have—thank you."

The corner of Estinien's lips quirked up. "He has that effect," he said.

Haurchefant grinned. "Perhaps, but I can scarcely imagine you swooning at a kiss."

In answer, Estinien pulled him down for a quick kiss edged with teeth. "Then you'd best hone your technique."

Together they clambered down the shallow slope to the stream that ran below the sauna, and they rinsed themselves quickly in the frigid water. A moment later, Aymeric joined them, sputtering as he dipped his head beneath the surface to soak his hair. "The sauna is a fine tradition," he said through chattering teeth, "but it was perhaps a finer one before the Calamity."

It helped break the tension a little, to see Aymeric so woefully out of sorts.

"A wash in cold water is good for the circulation," said Haurchefant cheerfully, as the three of them packed back into the heat of the sauna again. Once they'd shut the door behind them, he dipped a bit of water and cast it onto the rocks on the stove. Steam rose with a hiss. "There are other traditions, too, among the smallfolk. In some villages, they switch each other with birch twigs to keep their blood up."

"Do they," Aymeric asked, raising his brows. His blue eyes gleamed with mischief. "And have you ever partaken in this tradition?"

Haurchefant's breath caught. "I have not had that pleasure, Ser," he said. "But I should like to."

Aymeric lit his fingertips on Haurchefant's shoulder, where Estinien's teeth had left a crescent scar that still shone pink against Haurchefant's skin. "You are no stranger to pain," said Aymeric, low. He traced the arc of the scar, his touch almost reverent. Unbidden, the memory of the bite rose beneath his hand, and Haurchefant shuddered with pleasure.

"It isn't pain I crave," said Haurchefant, although at that moment he craved it with a vertiginous intensity. "It's what lies beyond it—there's a sweetness like no other at the far side of pain, and I would gladly bear a thousand blows to reach it."

"So he says," Estinien drawled, "but ask me how many times he's begged for my teeth in his throat."

Something shifted in Aymeric's expression; his smile grew predatory, his eyes dark and focused. A cold thrill of anticipation sang down Haurchefant's spine. "I would like to hear you beg," said Aymeric, so lightly that it scarcely felt like a command.

Haurchefant knew better, though.

"Please," he said, and knelt on the lower bench between Aymeric's spread thighs. Aymeric's skin was still cool from their dip in the stream; his eyes glittered like chips of ice. His cock hung lax and heavy between them, and Haurchefant longed to take it in his mouth. "Please, Ser, hurt me."

Aymeric leaned down, tipping Haurchefant's chin up with the point of one long finger. "Tell me how you would like to be hurt," he said.

In that moment, it felt as though no wild fantasy was forbidden. He might ask to be flayed like a martyr, or carved open so that the secret citadels of his chest lay bare to the world. He might beg Aymeric and Estinien to fuck him at once, their cocks clasped tightly together inside him, the both of them rutting into him like beasts until he could bear the bliss of it no longer.

He turned his head to kiss Aymeric's palm, and he whispered, "I should like you to thrash me until I bleed, Ser. And then to fuck me on my knees."

Aymeric smiled as though the answer pleased him, which made Haurchefant's chest ache with pride. "Estinien," said Aymeric. "Cut us a switch."

Estinien snorted, but he rose from the bench again without complaint. Tossing another dipper of water onto the rocks, he stepped once more into the cold. The door clicked shut behind him.

In the stillness that followed, Aymeric trailed his hand along Haurchefant's jaw until his palm lay framing Haurchefant's cheek and his fingers were tangled in Haurchefant's wet hair. "Estinien speaks highly of you," said Aymeric, stroking Haurchefant's hair back from his face. "Of your honor. Your sense of justice. And although I know you only little and less, I should like to know you better."

"It surprises me to hear it," said Haurchefant honestly. "I did not think him one to offer lavish praise."

"Not lavish," admitted Aymeric with a laugh. "He has a remarkable economy of expression. One must learn the trick of hearing what he says, rather than listening for what he does not. An art regrettably little practiced, in Ishgard."

Haurchefant tried to smile. "I was never meant for such a life," he said. "Even had I been my father's trueborn son—a knight's plain speech better suits me than a nobleman's circumspection."

"Then it is well that you and Estinien found one another," Aymeric answered, and leaned down to kiss Haurchefant's brow. His lips were cool, but he lingered in the kiss until a warmth had grown between them.

The door creaked open, and Estinien returned with a bundle of birch twigs in his hand and his bare feet dusted with snow. It melted quickly in the heat of the sauna, but Estinien slouched on the lowest bench all the same so that he could hold his feet close to the stove. He offered no complaint, although his skin was red with cold and his hair had begun to freeze in icy spikes; he only flexed his hands as though his knuckles ached and asked, "Would you rather watch, or flog him yourself?"

Aymeric's hand tightened in Haurchefant's hair, pulling to the very edge of pain. "I cannot deny how it would please me to see the two of you together," he said, his voice rough at the edges. "Nor am I insensible of how often you have subordinated your lusts to mine—"

"But you want to be the one who makes him bleed."

Aymeric gave a tight nod that Haurchefant felt more than saw. "Very much, yes."

There came a soft rustle of branches, and then Estinien laid his cold hand at the back of Haurchefant's neck. His touch was already familiar to Haurchefant, although they had known each other only a little while—as much comradely as possessive, comforting in its solid weight. "Let's take this to the cabin, then. He'll not want to walk through the snow after you're through with him."

They lingered a while longer as the fire burned down in the iron stove, letting Estinien warm his icy limbs. When at last he had thawed, Haurchefant tamped down the fire and led them across the stream to the old hunting cabin on the far bank.

It had been the Countess de Fortemps's retreat, during her lifetime, and a shadow of her taste still lingered in the fine mullioned windows and the stout, cheerful chimney of tumbled river stones. A part of him still drew up tight with dread at the sight of the hearth fire through the windows, but that part was quieter now than it had been when he was small.

Perhaps, one day, he would return to this place and think only that it was where he had first lain together with Aymeric and Estinien. There was a kind of comfort in that.

Once inside, Estinien immediately sprawled upon the worn Ul'dahn rug before the fire. He lay with his chin propped upon his hand, his grey eyes hooded and intent. There was a lean, spare beauty to him of which Haurchefant never tired—as though Estinien had pared himself down to his essentials, honing his body into something infinitely more elegant than a weapon. On any other evening, Haurchefant would have fitted himself into the inviting curve of Estinien's body, and they would have whiled away the hours trading leisurely kisses.

On this evening, though, Aymeric splayed his fingers at the small of Haurchefant's back and whispered, "On your knees."

Haurchefant's heart was in his throat. He sank to his knees as though seeking a benediction, then bent down until he could press his palms against the floor. Anticipation made him faint, giddy, shameless; he spread his knees apart and arched his back to offer up his arse.

Aymeric knelt beside him and pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. He trailed his hand down Haurchefant's spine, over the muscled swell of his arse, down to the meat of his thighs. "You are so very beautiful," he said, as though Haurchefant's beauty, too, was for him. "If ever this becomes too much for you, you have only to say, 'Hold.' I will never ask more of you than you can bear."

"I'd thought it was I who asked a boon of you," said Haurchefant, grinning despite his nerves. "Please, Ser. I beg you—do not spare me."

Then the first switch cracked against his thighs, and he howled at the keen, bright pain of it.

Aymeric traced his cool knuckles over the rising welt; it was so nearly a balm that Haurchefant shuddered in relief. "Good?" asked Aymeric softly.

"Good," Haurchefant answered at once, and rocked back against his hand. "Please, Ser, again—"

And Aymeric struck him again, a half-dozen swift blows across his thighs that left burning lines in their wake. It was like nothing Haurchefant had ever experienced—wholly unlike the dull press of teeth, the sweet-filthy sharpness of fingernails, or even the sudden, sick pain of a sword through muscle. Each blow blossomed on his skin, fresh and blazing as sunlight, clear as a word carven in stone.

On the seventh blow, the switch snapped, and Haurchefant groaned in disappointment. "Another, please," he said breathlessly; his skin sang with pain that approached exultation, and he longed to lose himself in the glorious ache of it.

Nor did Aymeric deny him. He freed two more twigs from the bundle and struck with both of them at once—first gently, then with growing force, layering welts over welts until the first, clear lines seemed to bleed together into one dense map of hurt. Haurchefant lost track of how many blows had fallen, or how deeply they had scored his flesh; there was only the sharp sound of Aymeric's breath, the song of the birch twigs carving the air, the slow-mounting pain setting every nerve alight.

And then the pain faded, leaving only a delicious, golden warmth that felt as though it must shine through Haurchefant like a lantern flame.

"More," Harchefant begged, nearly spent. His face lay pillowed on his arms; his cock ached to be touched. He thought he was weeping. His cheeks were wet. "Please, Ser, I—I'm close; I need you—"

"More of this?" Aymeric asked, and again the birch twigs whispered across Haurchefant's arse. There were three of them in Aymeric's hand now; the air smelled of green wood and blood. "Or are you ready for my cock?"

"Your cock," said Haurchefant, fervent as a prayer.

Someone unstoppered a vial; just the glassy sound of it sent a lightning charge of lust to the root of Haurchefant's cock.

He felt Estinien's familiar hands on his shoulders, urging him to his hands and knees. "Up, knight," said Estinien, his voice wry and kind. "You've work still to do." His hard cock hung before Haurchefant's lips, and Haurchefant greedily swallowed it down.

Oil-slick fingertips eased into Haurchefant's hole, and he rocked back onto them with such force that Aymeric gasped as his knuckles slid in deep. "By the Fury," he whispered, "I already have two fingers in you—"

"He opens up beautifully, doesn't he," purred Estinien, rolling his hips until Haurchefant gagged around him. "A little work, and you could get your whole hand inside."

"Unlike some I could name," said Aymeric fondly, and he leaned across Haurchefant's back to kiss Estinien on the lips.

At the end of the kiss, Estinien laughed, just a low shudder of sound that Haurchefant felt in his throat. "I know. Tightest arse in Eorzea. It's all the dragoon training."

"I would never dream of complaining."

Warm oil poured down the valley of Haurchefant's arse, and Aymeric worked it into his hole with deep, patient strokes—first with two fingers, then three, searching and circling, each wet pump of his hand torturously slow. Haurchefant rocked down onto Aymeric's fingers as though he could fuck himself on that hand, and still it did not requite him; he craved a fucking as hard and as glorious as the beating, and not this slow, sweet death by ilms.

 _Please, Ser,_ he thought, crushing his eyes closed against the pleasure of letting Estinien fuck his face. _Please, have mercy._

When at last Aymeric sank his cock into Haurchefant's hole, though, sliding balls-deep in a single long thrust, Haurchefant longed not for mercy but for vanquishment.

He lost track of how long he knelt there, spitted between their cocks—he knew only the rhythm of their thrusts, the salt-sweat taste of Estinien's cock, the way his broken skin throbbed when Aymeric's hips grazed his arse. Pleasure coursed through him in unceasing waves, building and breaking anew every time the head of Aymeric's cock grazed the knot of nerves inside of him. His jaw hurt so badly that he thought he would weep. His aching cock leaked precome, slicking the hard stone floor.

Then Estinien was pulling away from him, leaving Haurchefant half-empty and bereft. "Please," Haurchefant said again, no more than a ragged whisper. He reached for Estinien and clutched at his hand until the bones creaked in his grip. "Don't leave me. Please, Ser, I need you—"

"Shh." Estinien urged him up onto his knees, leaning up to kiss Haurchefant with such a searing sweetness that Haurchefant feared his heart would crack open at the joy of it. Haurchefant wrapped Estinien in his arms and kissed him again with all the desperation that he had not words to voice, devouring him with lips and tongue and teeth—and Estinien answered him kiss for kiss, bite for bite, rolling their hips together until the pleasure crested at last. Caught between Aymeric and Estinien, Haurchefant came harder than he ever had in his life.

Afterward, when they had scrubbed themselves clean of come and blood, Haurchefant lay on his stomach in front of the fire and let the other two tend to his wounds. His whole body hummed with drowsy, delicious languor. Contentment, he realized; he was contented as he had never been before, putting himself entirely in their hands.

"Will you stay?" he asked, when his thighs had been anointed in balms and wrapped in bandages. "Forgive me—I know you have matters of great consequence to attend to. But I ... I should like it very much if you would stay."

Once more, Aymeric reached down to stroke Haurchefant's hair back from his face. It had surprised Haurchefant, at first, to see him touch Estinien's hair so gently; now that he had tasted pain at Aymeric's hands, though, he thought he understood. He could be cruel, yes, but not only cruel—there was a kindness in him that ran deeper and fiercer than cruelty.

Aymeric drew in a long breath, then let it out in a rush. The crease in his brow faded, and his eyes grew soft and fond. "There are no matters so consequential that they cannot wait until the morrow," he said at last.

"Or the day after," drawled Estinien.

Aymeric grinned, sharp and wicked. "If you mean to try my patience, Ser, your backside would do well to remember that I'm not yet out of switches."

**Author's Note:**

> There is a Finnish saying, 'Juhannussauna ilman vihtaa on kuin ruoka ilman suolaa,' or 'A sauna without a birch switch is like food without salt.' Curious persons may wish to investigate the traditional [vihta/vasta](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Finnish_sauna#Finnish_sauna_customs); I imagine the Coerthan equivalent was equally leafy in the pre-Calamity days.


End file.
